


The Heffamick

by EG Challenge Submissions (6mgs7), mobile_mom



Series: The Holiday Series [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, EGChallenge3, Gallavich Halloween, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 19:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/EG%20Challenge%20Submissions, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mobile_mom/pseuds/mobile_mom
Summary: That all fluff domestic Gallavich fic that brings up the question if warm beer is good for a cold and what turned Mickey into the most adorable Heffalump ever.





	The Heffamick

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Elise from FB for finding “Squlls” of Tumblr, the artist, who created the picture “Sleepy Mickey” and allowed me to use it. And thanks to Erika and Jade for beta reading.
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/spankingshakespeare/44900090244/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

*sniff*

Ian tries hard to suppress a little smirk.

*sniff* *rasp*

“Mick? You trying to tell me something?”

Ian feels a warm head cuddling up on his chest, and finally looks up from his phone, his eyes wandering down to the fluffy violet ball that had formed above him on the sofa. It’s a ball made out of their huge – “the fuck Ian, _violet_? What comes next? You gonna hoist a rainbow flag outside?” – blanket. There is some tousled dark hair at the end of all the colorful fabric lying at Ian’s chest and the cloth speaks:

“Imma sick” it mumbles. “Iansick.”

“Iansick?”

“Yeah, that’s like homesick. But I’m missing you.”

“What? I’m right here, stupid,” he can’t help but laugh.

“But you’re ignoring me,” comes the pouting answer.

Ian puts his phone on the armrest of their couch, takes the blanket a bit away from Mickey’s head and caresses his cheek lovingly with a tender thumb.

“I could never ignore you, silly.”

“And what are you giving me all these names for, huh?”

The answer is a sigh that lifts Mickey’s head up high with Ian’s chest.

“I’m neither stupid, nor silly, I’m just *cough* really… miserably… sick.” And to emphasize his deadly state, Mickey presses his feverish head on Ian’s strong chest, both arms limply laid out to each side of Ian’s warm thighs.

Ian can’t help but smile over his soft man. He feels a pleasant warmth flowing through his body and knows, it’s less caused by Mickey’s body heat, but rather by the love he feels for him. His left hand is now stroking gently through the soft dark hair while he traces calming circles over Mickey’s back with his right one and gets a content “hmmm” as a reward.

“You like that?” Ian whispers and gets a soft friction as an answer.

“What’s that? Thought you were sick?”

“Not everywhere.”

“Oh, Mick” His laughter echoes through their living room and once he calms down he can feel a big grin through the fabric of his shirt.

“So, you know what night this his?”

“Mickey night?” the violet fluff which is now making serious efforts to heighten the friction of their hardening dicks, asks back hopefully.

Ian almost feels guilty, as he looks into the sassy sparkling blue of the eye, peeking out from under the blanket, when he answers: “It’s Halloween.”

*grumbling*

Eye and hair disappear again into the darkness of the blanket cave.

Ian feels Mickey shift his position and just as he is about to straighten himself up, he feels a gentle pressure between his legs.

Automatically his head falls back on the rest of their sofa, his eyes close and they can both feel how he relaxes.

“Oh…god, Mick.”

Mickey hardens his grip and rubs faster, his breathing becoming more rapid. Yes, he doesn’t feel good, but who says he can’t try to heal himself a bit, right? He licks his lips…

*DING DONG*

“The fuck?”

“Don’t stop.”

*Dinnnng donnnnng*

 

“Urgh!” Mickey falls back on the sofa frustrated, while Ian tries to get up from under him. The gangly man stumbles to the door and grabs the bowl filled with sweets he had placed next to it earlier on, before opening.

“Trick or treeheeet!”

And while Ian smiles amused at the three little ghosts in front of their house, he hears a distant “Jesus fuck”, followed by a dramatic cough.

“Here you go, have fun and take care, kids.”

“Thanks, mister but us ain’t kids, we are ghosts, bohooohooo”.

Once the ghosts had flown away again, Ian thinks that he actually remembers the bowl to be much heavier and that the ghosts had only been their first spooky guests of the night. Taking a closer look, he understands: it’s all there, the Chupa Chups, the little chocolate bars, some soure gum looking like a skeleton finger and wobbly gum like a round, blood shot eye ball, only…

“Really Mick?” he asks while tracing back to the couch, “Every little Snickers bar?” and he tries really hard to scold, but fails miserably.

“What? I’m sick.” And Ian can’t believe the puppy look he gets from a feverish looking Mickey, completely wrapped up in the blanket, knees drawn to his chest. “I needed all the fucking Bs.”

“You!” and Ian doesn’t mind for a moment if Mickey is sick or not and throws a pillow at him. Both are laughing heartily, but the way the smaller man simply ducks and covers tells Ian that he really has to feel weak.

“All the B’s, huh? How subtle Milkovich.”

“Yeah. Heard you like it that way” Mickey smirks back, lifting the blanket with a “so warm” moan.

“Ahm, Mick?”

“Huh?”

“What happened to your PJ’s?”

“Well,”, and Mickey tries to behave as nonchalantly as possible “I guess your LILAC shirt is, what happened to my innocent white PJ’s, Gallagher. “

“Huh,”, stepping closer Ian lets his fingers slide over the soft fabric which may have been white once but is now a pastel purple, “yeah, now that you mention it, I remember that color, but…I never remember anything about you being innocent,” and their lips slot together for a hungry kiss only to be abruptly separated seconds later.

“Fuck!”

“What?” Ian can’t overlook the tent that is building in Mickey’s trousers, so what is the problem?

“Damn, I’m gonna poison you with all my fucking germs.”

“Well then, let my hand do the talking” Ian says, his forehead meeting Mickey’s slightly damp feeling one, and he starts stroking Mick’s hard-on.

“That good, my little germ pond?”

“Geez, shut the fuck up, and…urgh…yeah.”

Ian bites playfully at Mickey’s exposed neck, his hand pampering a now fully grown thick dick that slowly starts to leak precum.

Their little living room blurs as they indulge in the other man. Desire and dedication dictating their motions. Warm flesh and soft cotton rubbing against each other without ceasing. The heat conjures beads of sweat on their excited bodies. They feel their breathing, they can smell their need. They can…

*DING DONG*

…hear the fucking doorbell.

“Holy shit! That’s un-be-fucking-leavable! Tell them to piss of, or the next thing they’re gonna see are my blue balls that I’ll shove down their little throats!”

“Woah, Mick. Mickey, hey, they are just kids; it’s Halloween. They are excited, and…”

“Yeah, well I was fucking excited too!” and with that he trots off into the kitchen to grab a beer. He feels tired and the sound of Ian speaking to the kids at the door gets through to him like a dense fog. When he falls back onto their dark grey sofa he can barely keep his eyes open and frustratingly mumbles “stupid cold”.

“Hey, shouldn’t you rather be drinking…I dunno, tea?”

“Huh Doctor Red, you never heard that a warm beer is the best medicine for a cold?”

“Haven’t you just been to the fridge?”

“I’m dying and the last thing you do is argue with me, Gallagher?

“C’mon,” But as soon as Ian wants to give a sassy answer he realizes that Mickey has already closed his eyes. “You’re feeling that shitty, hm?”

“Told you, I’m sick.”

“And it’s still that Ian sickness?” he smirks.

“Guess so,” comes the mischievous answer and one eye opens, looking up at Ian. “Why don’t you put your gangly limbs down here and try to find a cure?”

“Yeah, we should really find a cure” and only because Mickey is already half asleep and looks so peaceful wrapped up in their violet blanket again, Ian dares to add a whispered “babe”. Mickey’s eyebrows lift up, but nothing follows. “I’m just gonna go grab a sandwich, take my evening pills and then we lay down again together, ‘kay?”

“’Mkay”

Once Ian is preparing his sandwich, Mickey feels how his mind wants to drift to sleep, exhausted from the cold, but also lulled by their peaceful, domestic life. They don’t have a lot, but they have the most important thing: each other. And just as the distant memory of all the things they overcame and the realization of how good they have it now paints a small smile on Mickey’s lips, there is a heavy knocking at the door.

Domestic bliss or not, but a heavy knocking will always put Mickey in alarm mode. He is instantly fully awake and already off the sofa when Ian appears in the kitchen door, the butter knife still in his hand.

“ ‘s all good, I got it. Eat and take your pills. I’m gonna take care of the little rug rats this time.”

“Okay…just don’t scare them shitless, Mick.”

“You are the one with a knife in your hand” Mickey smiles, looking back over his shoulder that is still covered by the blanket, as he opens the door with his hand. First he sees nothing, and then he realizes that he also doesn’t hear anything, which his pounding head is extremely thankful for. Looking down, a cute little boy in a crocodile costume smiles at him. He looks so sweet and shy, with his blond curls and big blue eyes that Mickey can’t help smiling back. And now that he has his full attention, the little guy very politely, but determinedly just says, “Trick or treat” and then beams at him again.

Mickey takes their bowl with the sweets and empties them completely into the little boys orange bucket. The boy opens his eyes in astonishment, but is smart enough not to say anything. He can’t know that Mickey has just decided that these intrusions have to stop and that he plans to turn off the bell after getting rid of the sweets.

“How come you are not a ghost or anything bloody? Ain’t ya supposed to look scary on Halloween?”

“Well, sir, a crocodile may look calm but it’s pretty dangerous.”

“Is that so?”

“Yupp, I’m convinced they are, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten me all your sweets, I guess.” And with that the little smarty-pants runs off to his older brother who was waiting for him a little bit down the street.

“Woah! The violet guy gave you so much?!!”

“Yeah, the Heffalump just emptied his whole bowl into my bucket. I told you I can look cute and get tons of sweets tonight.”

Entering the kitchen Mickey is still shaking his head when he puts the bowl down in the sink.

“What’s up grumpy?”

“The hell is a Heffalump?”

Silence.

Ian is eyeing Mickey from head to toe and bursts out laughing.

“It’s ehm, it’s you, really. Yeah, you. You may look intimidating to some people at first, but then you are all violet, and…”

“Oh, shut up!”

Ian happily obeys and hurries to pass his wonderful boyfriend on the way back to their couch once he swallowed his pills.

He lies down, legs slightly spread to create the perfect trough for Mickey to fit in between. At last calm comes and Mickey's head rests gently on Ian’s chest. Again stroking the black hair, Ian feels how Mickey’s breaths are getting longer and more even and it doesn’t take long before he peacefully falls asleep.

“Okay, let me get you, before we both fall asleep and at least I won’t be completely dislocated tomorrow” Ian softly mumbles and somehow manages to creep out from under the smaller man and lifts him on his strong arms.

Instinctively Mickey’s legs wrap around Ian’s waist as he is carefully carried upstairs and maybe he still hears how Ian says:

“Maybe it’s good that Halloween is only once a year, but Mickey night is every night.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
